


Painted on Lipstick Red

by knenok95



Series: Smoke Filled Room [2]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: Carmilla AU, F/F, Hollstein - Freeform, Laura's POV, POV First Person, Smoke Filled Room AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9873440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knenok95/pseuds/knenok95
Summary: Laura's POV of the Smoke Filled Room AU I wrote last week.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't bother editing this or anything. Just a heads up.

     Laf made me do it.  If anyone asks, it's all Laf’s fault.  I was doing just fine before that weekend, until they guilted me into going to the bar and pulled out last minute.  To be honest though, I should probably be thanking them now instead of bashing them, but at the time, I was livid.

     I was in town that weekend more for business than pleasure.  Mrs. Cochrane, my old boss, mentor, and journalism professor, called me back to Silas' local newspaper for the week to help train a few fresh-out-of-college hires.  She figured since I was from Silas and “made it big” that I could share some insight about  _ chasing your dreams _ and  _ never giving up _ .  I was honestly ecstatic.  I got to see a couple of my old college friends on an all expense trip back to my home town and I got to help shape the careers and future lives of kids just as eager to do some good in the world as I was back then.  The news station back in Toronto even gave me permission to pick a candidate for an internship, if the new hire was up for it.  This trip was a big deal.

     That was my mindset on Friday morning when I flew out.

     Saturday, I had the night off to gallivant around and do my own thing before meeting the kids on Monday morning.  Laf told me there was a new bar in town that I should definitely check out while I was there.  Apparently the bar was known for its live performances from local talent.  They had bands and individual artists perform on the weekends and comedy and poetry nights during the week.  The guy that played on Saturdays was supposed to be incredible.  Laf said he did a lot of covers of songs from the 80s and that I should invite my dad.  He's a huge  _ Journey _ fan.  Well, I did invite him.  He couldn’t go, said he was too busy with a new case at work to go out for a night of drinking with his only child.  (Passive aggressive undertones intended.)  So, I went alone.

     Laf ended up having to stay late at the lab at Silas U, working on some bio...thing and Perry was busy doing something else, but they promised to have a proper catch up on Sunday when they were supposed to come over to my dad's for dinner.  Kirsch had moved back to his hometown after university when he got a job at his old high school as a coach of some sport with a ball, and Danny was teaching English Lit at some university in Chicago the last I heard, so their company was definitely off the table.  I didn’t know anyone in this town anymore, not like I used to.

     I put myself together as much as I could.  I slid into a black dress, put more effort into my makeup, wore lipstick, curled my hair, found an old pair of my mother’s heels from the back of my dad’s closet.  I wasn’t looking for a hookup, but if one presented itself, I wasn’t going to refuse the chance to play around for a bit.  I had been doing that a lot lately.  I found it slightly amusing.  I would see how far I could get into the night, how many drinks I could get in me, before I actually agreed to go home with some random girl.  99% of the time it was only a quick, one time deal.  I never let them touch me.  I never got their number.  I never saw them again.  After they were done, I would gather my clothes, if they had even been taken off, call a cab, or Uber, and leave.  That 1% was the time I drank so much that I woke up naked and sore and I  _ knew  _ I let her do things to me that no one had done since my last relationship.

     The bar was a lot less crowded than I had anticipated on a Saturday night at nearly 10 o’clock, but maybe that was because this was Silas and I was used to the bars back in Toronto where everyone seemed to stay up until they were kicked out at 2am.  Either way, I was tempted to just leave and go home to watch Netflix in my pajamas with a mug of hot chocolate and an unopened box of cookies.  Instead, I indulged in Laf’s request and had a shot for them and Perry and settled onto a stool at the bar with a glass of whiskey.  I never did lose the taste for it after...  _ someone _ …  But that has nothing to do with anything.

     I never finished the glass.

     I heard her voice first.  That low, sultry, husk, almost a growl, almost her bedroom voice, but not quite there yet.  It was intoxicating.  Even more so than the two shots of tequila and half a glass of whiskey I downed less than five minutes ago.  At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.  I hadn’t heard that voice in almost 10 years and it was like music to my ears.  An unwanted, yet beautiful symphony of chords in the back of a siren's throat.  I didn't want to turn around.  I didn't want it to be her.  I wanted her voice to be another one of my vivid dreams (nightmares).  But, that wasn't the case.

     I turned around when she started singing a song I had never heard before.  She was at the piano on the side of the stage, a single light shining on her porcelain skin.  She looked older.  You’re probably saying, “Yeah, no shit she’s older, you haven’t seen her in 10 years.”  Well, that’s not what I’m talking about.  Of course, she  _ aged _ .  The last time I saw her was when she was 18.  What I’m talking about, is how she held herself up there.  She looked matured, settled.  She looked completely content.  This was her element.  She was happy, she was  _ living _ .

     She had on a white, short sleeved t shirt with the sleeves rolled and a vaguely familiar silver chain around her neck, a pair of black jeans  _ without  _ holes (I was just as surprised as you probably are), the cuffs rolled up, and a nice pair of red Oxfords on her feet.  She wore her hair in loose curls, cut just above her shoulders.  Four of her ten fingers held rings, one on her right thumb, two on the fourth finger of her right hand, one on the index finger of her left hand, and another on her middle finger.  I ignored the lack of tanned skin around her ring finger and how that somehow made my heart clench at the sight.

     I watched her play in solitude for a split second before she lifted her head to look out over the crowd as she sung.  Then our eyes met.  Hers went comically wide before she stopped singing, her fingers halted on the piano, and she muttered a single word.  Or...more of a name.  I don’t even think she realized she said it, but the second my name was past her lips, a fire ignited in my chest.  Apparently the feelings I spent  _ years  _ trying to bury had no match for seeing those eyes in person.  It was too much.  My chest ached, my head was spinning, my stomach felt like it fell through the floor, and I could feel tears burning my eyes, but I refused to cry.  Not there, at least. So, as calmly as I could, I placed the rest of my drink on the bar and left with my hands clenched into tight fists to hide how badly they were shaking.  The second I felt the breeze of the November night on my cheeks, I slipped my heels off and took off down the street, making a sharp left turn at the end of the building and didn’t stop.  I heard her call my name from the front of the bar, but I ignored her.  I ignored her half choked cries in order to hear my own.  She was the reason for this.  She made her choice.  She didn’t deserve to miss me.

     Before I knew it, I was back on my dad's front porch steps.  He wasn’t home, thank the celestial beings.  I crawled into my childhood bed and I cried myself to sleep that night to the picture of Carmilla’s face burned into the back of my eyelids, clutching my old yellow pillow to my chest.

     When I woke up the next morning, I peeled my wrinkled dress from my body and showered and pretended nothing happened.  Because nothing did happen.  I just overreacted.  I drank coffee with my dad at the kitchen table while he read the Sunday paper.  I went to the local grocery store and picked up some things for the evening.  I went over my game plan for the upcoming week.  I answered a few emails.  I ignored any and all thoughts that had to do with  _ her _ .  When Perry and Laf came over for dinner, I put on a brave face and vowed to never cry over that dark haired woman again.

     My resolve only lasted until the next time I visited Silas.

* * *

 

I was off work for the Christmas holiday.  My dad stayed home those couple of days too because he said he was sorry for his lack of visits in the past couple of months since his promotion.  It was nice to hang out, just the two of us, drinking eggnog in our lame Christmas sweaters.  The Saturday before Christmas Eve, he decided to take Laf, Perry, and me out for drinks at The Lustig.  Perry had other plans, but Laf agreed to tag along.  I didn’t want to go, but he was making an effort and he was paying so I threw on something holiday related and some jeans and we left.  It was around 9:30 in the evening when I downed my first drink.  I didn’t plan on getting drunk, but the memories from the last time I was there were still raw.  I finished my second drink just after that night’s performer began her set and I honestly believed the world had it out for me.

She was dressed in the same black jeans, cuffed at the bottom, and red Oxfords, but instead of a white t shirt, she had on a white button up, buttoned to her neck, with a black vest over the top and a red handkerchief in the pocket that matched her shoes perfectly.  She still had that silver chain around her neck and the exact same rings on her four fingers (and I definitely still noticed the lack of the ring on her left ring finger).  Something was off, though.  Her shoulders were slumped, there were dark circles under her eyes, her smile was forced as she told the audience that she had a new song for them, she looked exhausted.  I probably looked similar, though.

Seconds later, I was standing in front of her.  She didn’t notice me at first and I don’t remember willing my legs to move, but they did and when I focused on the words tumbling from her lips, I was frozen.  The song she was singing was me.  Well, not literally, but the lyrics...she was singing  _ about  _ me.

I didn’t know what to think.  I was mad at her for using me as the topic of one of the loveliest songs I had ever heard.  I was angry that it was _her_ that wrote it.  I was shocked, slightly flattered.  I was furious that she even had the nerve...to do what?  I don’t know.  The whiskey was starting to have its effect on me.

     Our eyes met when she went to look out over the small crowd that had gathered since she took the stage.  Much like the last time, she fumbled with her words, but this time, she didn’t stop singing.  She looked me straight in the eye and she sang the last few lines of the song.  Her eyes were dark and her lips were wet from where her tongue slid gently across them just seconds before and she was watching me intently.  And I was incredibly turned on.  But that might’ve been the alcohol in my veins.

     Half of me wanted to run, to get away from there as fast as I could.  To curl up in my bed again and not think about what I had been trying to avoid this entire trip.  The other half of me wanted the complete opposite.  That was the half that won.  I was entranced.  I was enthralled.  The room could’ve been in the midst of burning to the damn ground for all I knew, but I wouldn’t have been able to take my eyes off of her.  She had me reeled in and I didn’t fight it.

     The song ended with a chorus of cheers from the other patrons of the bar.  I barely heard them, or her pathetic attempt at a ‘ _ thank you _ ’ to her audience.  Her eyes were still locked with mine when she nearly tripped over the piano bench as she stepped down from the stage and right into my space.  Only when she grabbed my face with her hands and pressed her lips to mine, did I realize I was crying.

     My mind wasn’t working right, or it was just too stunned into silence that it wasn’t in charge of my body anymore because I kissed her back.  The second my body registered what was happening, I chased her lips with mine and I kissed her back with everything that I had.  I pulled away after what felt like minutes, but she chased after me.  I had to stop her with a hand to her chest.  I knew I wouldn’t have been able to pull away if she would have pressed her lips to mine again.

     Resting my forehead against hers, I let my heart take control of the situation.  I let myself say the name that I forced myself to never let past my lips before then.  I whispered it into the labored breaths between us as I watched her eyes flutter open to land on mine.  She had tears in her eyes and I knew I was crying, but I chose to ignore the tears staining both our cheeks as I reached my hand up to the nape of her neck and I found myself smiling.  Maybe it was the way it felt to be touched by her fingertips again and the way they burned my skin, or the way her lips felt pressed up against mine and the sweet fire that erupted in my chest when I felt her tongue on my bottom lip, or the fact that her body was now pressed into mine and how it fit almost perfectly.  But I felt her smiling too.  A genuine smile.

     She didn’t look tired anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> I'm on tumblr - no-pantsparty.tumblr.com  
> Or you can reach me on here.
> 
> Leave me a comment or something.


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